


A Red Christmas

by thegrendel



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, 1950s, Anal Sex, Christmas, Communism, Diarrhea, Duress, F/M, Naming names, Politics, Senate subcommittee, witness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: Senator Joe McCarthy beats up on a witness who was allegedly a member of a Communist front organization. But the witness has a trick or two up his sleeve, and he has friends in high places. And he has memories, memories of hot anal sex in a toilet stall.





	A Red Christmas

Transcript from the hearings of the Senate Subcommittee on Investigations,  
December 17, 1952:

`  
SENATOR MCCARTHY:`

`In the absence of more urgent matters, we resume the testimony of`  
witness Ronald Bookman. Counsel Cohn, will you please continue  
questioning the witness. 

`COUNSEL COHN:`

`Mr. Chairman, the witness has been cooperative in describing the`  
workings of the Communist organization of which he was a member.  
He has demonstrated irrational stubbornness on only one key point,  
the naming of the other members of that group. We have been patient  
and given him time to reconsider his lack of patriotism. 

`Due to a schedule conflict, I would like to hand over the  
questioning of the witness to Assistant Counsel Kennedy.`

`SENATOR MCCARTHY:`

`Counsel Kennedy --`

`COUNSEL KENNEDY:`

`For the record, I am Assistant Counsel Robert F. Kennedy,  
an attorney on the staff of Chief Counsel Roy M. Cohn.`

`Mr. Bookman, I remind you that you are still under oath.`

`Now, let us recapitulate your previous testimony. You stated that`  
you were a member of the Communist front "Workers' Equity"  
organization during the period February, 1935, to August, 1939.  
You let your membership lapse because of your disgust with the  
purges and Bukharin trials and your dismay over the Nazi-Soviet  
pact. Is that correct? 

`MR. BOOKMAN:`

`That is substantially correct, Counsel Kennedy.`

`COUNSEL KENNEDY:`

`You have not been a Communist for almost 14 years, and have,`  
in fact, repudiated all that the Soviet Union and Communism  
represent. Why, then, do you refuse to name names? 

`MR. BOOKMAN:`

`I won't have ruining careers and lives on my conscience.`  
These people, the people you wish me to name, out of naive  
idealism joined a group dedicated to bettering the lot of  
the unemployed worker. Remember, this country was still  
mired deep in the worst depression in its history, and  
millions embraced Marxist doctrine as the only hope of  
averting a total collapse. 

`COUNSEL KENNEDY:`

`While we understand your concerns, Mr. Bookman, nonetheless,`  
national security requires that you give us the names.  
Do this simple small thing, and the subcommittee will release  
you with your own name cleared of any taint. 

`MR. BOOKMAN:`

`Still, I must refuse, even if it means accepting the consequences.`

`COUNSEL KENNEDY:`

`Mr. Bookman, please consider carefully the implications of your`  
lack of cooperation. If we cite you for Contempt of Congress,  
you may face a prison sentence, and your future employment  
prospects will suffer irrevocable damage. Do you still refuse  
to name names? 

`MR. BOOKMAN:`

`I repeat, I will not purchase my own freedom at the cost of`  
destroying other people's lives.  


 

June 11, 1938

The man in the ill-fitting corduroy suit standing up front was trying to  
call the meeting to order despite the noise of the crowd milling in the  
room. Ron Bookman had somehow contrived to find a vacant chair next to  
a tall, well-groomed brunette in her early 20's. She turned toward him,  
smiled briefly, and offered a cheek for a perfunctory kiss.

"I didn't expect to see _you_ of all people here, Ronnie. Not  
after the executive board denounced you for deviationist tendencies,  
not to mention disloyalty. You're about as _non grata_ here as a  
_persona_ can be."

"Claudie, you know my feelings for you have nothing to do with whatever  
I may think of the Party. Damn it all, we've been as close as it's  
possible for two human beings to be. We've touched, we've joined. I've  
felt the heat of your passion. I felt your body embrace mine in the most  
intimate way possible! Doesn't that mean anything now? Damn it, woman,  
are you made of stone?"

She took both his hands and inclined her head toward his. "Ronnie,  
Ronnie. Human feelings pale in comparison to the tide of history.  
At this very moment, unemployed workers are marching in the streets of  
this country, the bastion of capitalism itself. Fascism is on the rise  
all over Europe. In the turmoil, the survival of the Workers' State and  
even Marxism itself is doubt. At a time like this how can you entertain  
such bourgeois fantasies as romantic love?"

"So, Claud, nothing we did before matters? I wasted my time sneaking in  
here to see you? I risked being beaten and thrown out for nothing?"

"Oh, Ron. I did and do have strong feelings for you. But don't you  
understand that my feelings don't matter? Only the Movement does. Only  
that. We're caught up in something immeasurably greater than sex and  
lust or even love. Damn, damn, DAMN. . . . Well, the least I can do is  
give you a grand sendoff. And seeing you, talking to you like this does  
seem to have aroused certain biological needs in me. What do you say we  
find a private place for one final little tryst?"

 

It was cramped in there. A ladies room stall wasn't really designed for  
two people. With the door latched, there was hardly standing room for  
the both of them. Ron just did manage to pull down his pants and sit  
down on the toilet. Claudia turned so she was facing away from him and  
hiked up her skirt. She had already retrieved a small glass bottle out  
of her purse and now she dabbed a rather large glob of Vaseline on her  
anal opening. Laboriously, she maneuvered her way backward onto his lap,  
gradually impaling herself on his hard penis. This was the just way  
she liked it -- getting sodomized in a public place, with the danger of  
discovery adding spice to the proceedings.

They had discovered it quite by accident. He'd had trouble bringing her  
to orgasm with vaginal intercourse, even in conjunction with protracted  
clitoral stimulation. Then, one night when they were both a bit drunk  
and in the throes of a reckless, sloppy passion, he had accidentally  
slipped into the wrong hole. She had spontaneously gone into massive  
convulsions of intense, almost unbearable rapture. Her orgasm was  
immediate, and it almost exploded the top of her head off. It was the  
hottest sex she had ever experienced.

Balancing herself with the balls of her feet on the ground and the palms  
of her hands pressing backwards into his thighs, she rode up and down  
his shaft, jamming it deeply into her bowels, then slowly sliding it  
out again. After a few minutes of this, she let her full weight down  
on his groin and leaned backwards slightly for maximum penetration. The  
pressure and friction against the thin wall separating her rectum from  
the vagina set her off. And again. She wiggled her hips and groaned  
softly with the rippling aftershocks.

The restroom door hissed open and there was the shrill, high-pitched sound  
of feminine voices. A couple of women had come in to do their business.

"Oh, shit! They'll see your bony ankles and Florsheims under the door  
of the damn stall," she hoarsely whispered as she unpronged herself and  
staggered upright.

With near-incredible contortions, they managed to quickly exchange  
positions -- he on her lap facing forward, she supporting his legs from  
underneath, which he propped partway up on the door of the stall. It  
was highly uncomfortable for both of them, but at least it would keep  
two pairs of legs from being seen under the stall.

The women took their jolly old time emptying their bladders, fixing  
up their faces, and jabbering about nothing of much consequence.  
After what must have been a half hour, they finally left . . . and as  
Ron and Claudia began struggling to disentangle, there were other voices  
and sounds and the door opened once more.

With Ron still on her lap and the restroom occupied by what sounded like  
half a dozen ladies tending to various bodily functions, Claudia began to  
get twinges, then increasingly painful cramps. This was what sometimes  
hit after a lively bout of anal sex. She felt, then heard the first of  
several explosive bursts of diarrhea rip through her and splatter into  
the water of the porcelain bowl beneath her bare bottom. The good news  
was that the toilet lid was already up and so was her skirt. The bad news  
was that Ron was literally right on top of her, involuntarily grinding  
his bare buttocks into her groin. Meanwhile, women came and went. And  
came and went.

Later, much later, Ron managed to escape out of the stall and out of the  
restroom without being observed. Claudia stayed behind; she was taking  
her own good time cleaning herself. He wondered if he'd ever be able to  
dispell the memory of that infernal stench. Nothing like smelling the  
contents of your lover's colon at point-blank range to put the kibosh  
on any bourgeois illusions of romantic love . . .

It was fourteen years before he saw her again.

`  
MR. BOOKMAN:`

`I repeat, I will not purchase my own freedom at the cost of`  
destroying other people's lives. (Oh, Claudia, I'll endure  
prison, and worse, rather than betray you.)  


"Hello? Hello, Claudia? It's Ron . . . Ron Bookman."

"Ron!"

"It wasn't easy finding you, Claud, much less getting up the courage to  
call. I had to, though."

"Ron, Ron. I'm sorry for all the pain I caused you . . . for all the  
pain we caused each other . . . so many years ago."

"What's past is past. I didn't call you to unearth old corpses."

"I had certain feelings for you once, Ron. There's not much left of that  
after all this time. We've both picked up and gone on with our lives."

"Haven't we though, Claud. And I understand you've done quite well  
for youself."

"Yes, I've been Jack Kennedy's private secretary for the last several  
years. Since his election to the Senate last fall, actually, and that  
seems to have put me right square in the center of the political scene."

"Exactly. And that's why I contacted you -- to warn you. You see, I'm  
testifying before Joe McCarthy's subcommittee, coerced under subpoena,  
of course. I've been under some fairly heavy pressure to name names,  
but I haven't, and I won't. But if they managed to track me down, that  
means the hounds may come sniffing around you too."

"I thank you for your concern, Ron. Believe me, though, I've got some  
pretty powerful protection."

 

A few days later, Claudia joined him for a drink "for old times' sake"  
in the Power Broker Cocktail Lounge at his hotel.

"You look remarkably well, Ron. A little the worse for wear, but under  
the circumstances that's understandable. I do believe you've finally  
grown up."

"Thank you, Claudia. You, too, have finally come into full bloom.  
You've put on weight in the right places, and it suits you well.  
Your hair is beginning to gray and if you're showing a wrinkle or two,  
even that enhances your appeal. You're a magnificent woman, and I can  
understand why Jack is so smitten."

She smiled ironically and handed him a sealed manila clasp envelope.

"What's this now?"

"It's a Christmas present to you from the Senator. Open it."

He did. Inside was a note saying, "Any friend of Claudia's is a friend  
of mine." Clipped to it was a yellow cardboard "Get Out of Jail Free"  
card from a Monopoly game. Underneath lay a large glossy closeup of  
the man most feared by crooks and politicians alike for the last three  
decades. The reigning head of the FBI. In drag.


End file.
